As the phantom of the blood bat vanished, the boiling blood pool beneath the entire hellish killing field strangely calmed down at that moment.
The nauseating, sweet-smelling odor that permeated the city was visibly fading away.
Without the support of evil energy, the blood-red markings on the King of Slaughter's body quickly faded, and his sickly pallor was replaced by a waxy yellow hue from prolonged illness.
His magnificent yet sinister blood-red robe had lost its luster and become tattered.
He seemed to have aged decades in an instant.
The rage and evil aura emanating from him vanished without a trace, replaced by a calm and... bewildered demeanor born of experience.
Bibi Dong had already retreated to the side when Ning Liu launched his attack. She looked at the dramatic scene before her with an extremely complicated expression.
As the Pope of the Spirit Hall, she knew many secrets.
In particular, she is the successor of the Rakshasa God.
The city of slaughter was deliberately corrupted by the Rakshasa God, and she was naturally aware of it as well!
Therefore, she vaguely guessed the true identity of the King of Slaughter.
However, she never expected that this peerless villain who had troubled the Clear Sky Sect and the Spirit Hall for nearly a hundred years would be purified by Ning Liu in this way.
"Bang."
The King of Slaughter could no longer hold on; his knees buckled, and he collapsed to his knees.
The weapon in his hand clattered to the ground. He slowly raised his hands, looking at them, which were no longer pale but covered with age spots, his eyes filled with endless confusion.
The smoke and dust settled slowly.
The degenerates in the stands were even more silent, not daring to even breathe loudly.
Their "god," their invincible king, just like that... was defeated?
What were those nine-headed bats just now?
In the deathly silence of the entire hall, the old man kneeling on the ground slowly raised his head.
His gaze swept over everyone else and landed on Ning Liu, and then on the sword.
His eyes were no longer bloodshot and crazed, but a kind of incredibly complex clarity mixed with reminiscence, regret, gratitude and relief.
He opened his chapped lips and uttered a few words in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice.
"How many years have passed..."
"Young...friend, thank you..."
Before he could finish speaking, he closed his eyes and fell straight backward.
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